


Reap

by Roo_Bastmoon



Category: 3:10 to Yuma (2007)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-12
Updated: 2013-08-12
Packaged: 2017-12-23 06:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roo_Bastmoon/pseuds/Roo_Bastmoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dan survives and returns to find his family’s been killed. Ben returns to Dan and picks up the pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Reap

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Angst. Minor character death mentioned. Graphic homosexual sex depicted.

Dan drove the shovel deep into the sun-baked earth with a breathless grunt. His body still hurt—and that was probably normal, given it had been riddled with holes just a few short weeks ago—but the graves needed digging, and Doc Potter couldn’t protest his efforts, seeing as how the man was dead.

He lifted the cracked silt to the side with no little effort and dug the shovel back in.

Felt he’d seen enough of death after the war and all—but it seemed God felt different, because he kept on living and the people around him kept on dying.

A few days after he’d sprawled on the ground beside a train, bleeding out, listening to William try and choke back sobs, Alice and Mark had been here, back on the farm. Dying.

Seemed Charlie Prince had split up the gang before going on to Contention. That mad dog had sent half of Wade’s men after his family. Dan supposed Mark had been an easy target, lying in bed with a fever and damp lung. From what he could make out by what was left, Alice looked like she’d fought, though. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears, and her fingernails had blood under them—not hers.

She hadn’t been violated, and she hadn’t been burned. Those were mercies. But both his wife and his son had been left dead on the porch, deliberately laid out for him and William to find.

Dan had ridden in a stagecoach all the way back from Contention with his teeth grit tight and a fine sheen of sweat constantly coating his face—the bullets may not be in him but he’d probably always feel like they were still there. Yet despite being shot so many times, he’d lived; somehow he’d been patched up and gone on. Collected the reward and hurried home, only to find nothing worth anything left.

William had bolted less than an hour after they arrived on the homestead and saw. Crows were picking at his mother's and brother's corpses, a couple weeks old. Guess he couldn’t blame the boy for walking away from that. Guess he couldn’t think of William as a boy anymore, either.

He’d be back once he’d cried out his grief. Dan envied him a little, the ability to feel anything other than anger. In the meantime, Dan had graves to dig. He thought about two graves but figured Alice would want their little one with her, so he decided on a big one, more than six feet deep—which was hard work, given how hot and dry the ground was on any given Arizona day. But he welcomed the pain, enjoyed the thought of undoing all the sloppy stitches the barber had made back in Contention. Hurt meant he was still alive, and right now, everything else seemed like a dream.

Dan Evans had known tired, but he had never known this kind of tired. He was getting a little punchy, and thought for sure he was hallucinating when he glanced up to see a pair of hooves.

Hadn’t heard a rider coming. It wasn’t Will’s horse.

The sun fashioned a glaring halo around the rider's face.

“Should you be moving around this much so soon, Dan? Isn’t one water well enough?”

He blinked sweat and disbelief out of his eyes as he took in the sight of Ben Wade, in fine duds, atop his fancy black horse.

The world tilted a bit. The last thing Dan saw before the black hit him was the smile slipping off Ben’s face.

“Da—”

~*~

Ben Wade was at a loss. He’d never been much of a nurse. Evans was in a bad way—a real bad way. Truth be told, Ben was sure Evans was a corpse. When news reached him in prison of how the almost-famous farmer-turned-gunslinger had lived to collect his money, Ben’s curiosity got the better of him. He broke out two days later and laid low in Mexico for a while. A few weeks later, when the hairs on the back of his neck had stopped standing up, he figured it was safe to pay the man a visit. Hell, if he was being honest, Ben was practically dragged back by an invisible hand.

For some reason, it just didn’t seem wrong that Evans was working hard in the field, though why the man wanted a second water well didn’t seem to make much sense. It wasn’t until Ben was carrying the unconscious fool back to the house that he’d realized… Dan was digging a grave for his family.

No sign of Will, but it was clear there’d been two tracks up to the house, one distinctly from a coach, and one set of horse hooves leaving, so the boy must have taken off. Sad to see the wee one dead and the look of horror transfixed in Alice's pretty green eyes, Ben walked into the little farmhouse. He gingerly placed Dan on the bed, covered him up, and wondered what the hell to do next. It seemed the man hadn’t just swooned. He was going to be out for a while. It looked like Dan hadn’t slept in years. Ben checked his wounds but nothing needed immediate attention.

He decided Dan had had the right idea, and he went back outside. He stayed out until just before sundown.

When he came back in, he was thirsty, but he went first to check on Dan.

The farmer was awake, but barely.

“How are you feeling?”

Dan didn’t say much, just kept looking at the ceiling. Ben went to the kitchen and came back with a tin cup of water. “Here.”

“You ain’t real,” Dan murmured.

Ben smiled and drank half the cup. “The water’s real enough. You want some?”

The smallest of nods, but otherwise Dan didn’t move. So he bent over and put the cup to Dan’s mouth—watched as Dan sipped like his heart wasn’t in it but he didn’t know what else to do.

“I finished the grave. Wrapped ’em up in blankets; hope you don’t mind. Did you want to wait… for Will? Or maybe you wanna do it now. It’s getting hotter… Wanna say a few words?”

Dan choked a little and then winced. He settled back down. “I don’t know what to …”

Luckily, Ben had practically memorized the good book. “Think I can handle it. You want me to… cover them up now… or……”

Dan’s head lolled to the side and he looked Ben in the eye. “Guess it’s time to lay them to rest…”

Ben watched the too-thin man attempt to get out of bed. Reminded him of a newborn foal. With two fingertips, he pressed on Dan’s chest until the man was prone, worn out.

“I got this. You rest. Drink.” He put the tin cup in Dan’s hand and started toward the door. His stride hitched when he heard the cup bang against the wall. Dan was angry, and that was a good thing, to his way of thinking. Meant Dan had something to live for, even if it that thing was revenge.

He had a good idea who'd done this, but he wasn't quite ready to admit he was to blame, yet.

It didn’t take long. He struggled a little with getting Alice in just so; Mark was smaller and easier. He was gentle and slow about shoveling the dirt back on them. No time nor inclination for pine boxes; the grave was deep enough and a few covering rocks would have to do for a cairn.

He hummed low as he worked. Burying Dan Evans’ past was a solemn thing. He murmured the Lord’s Prayer and silently hoped the two would find their peace.

By the time he’d put his horse in the barn and gotten back to the house, it was dark. He got some wood, started a fire in the iron stove, and peeked in on Dan, who was asleep again, but shivering. Ben used the back of his hand to feel for fever, but he found the man cold. With a sigh, he abandoned hopes of dinner and a bath and instead opted to remove his boots and then, quiet-like, slid in between the sheets and draped an arm over Dan’s lean hips. He was afraid to touch anything higher up on the torso for fear of the wounds, but for some reason, he felt like if he didn’t hold on to Dan, the man would fade away.

Dan didn’t seem to mind; his breath puffed out his lips and deep sleep made his face look years younger.

With a sigh, Ben let the shared body heat melt into his bones and eventually nodded off, too.

~*~

Dan woke up angry, which was partly why he booted Ben Wade out of his bed with his good leg and snarled.

Ben sat up on the floor and blinked. “So… Not a morning person, Dan?”

“What the hell were you doing in my bed?”

“I was sleeping.” With a small groan, Wade stood. At least they were both fully dressed, Dan noted. He’d had some rather disturbing dreams since Yuma and didn’t quite know what to expect at the moment. Wade seemed nonplussed as he said, “Guess it is time to get up.”

“What are you doing here, Wade?”

The cold-blooded killer smiled and had the gall to look pleased with himself. “I’m indulging myself in your hospitality. Seems only fair I should make you breakfast in return. Like eggs?” Wade stalked outside, probably headed for the chicken coop, while Dan just stayed there, gaping.

What in the hell?

He considered getting his gun, but the outlaw had left his pistols slung over the bedpost, and he wasn’t in the mood for another fire fight any time soon.

Slowly—more slowly than he’d be comfortable Wade seeing—he hobbled out to the kitchen. He watched warily as Ben stomped back in, two brown eggs in each hand, whistling. He was good at whistling.

Some reason, that made Dan angry again. “I’ll ask you just one more time: What are you doing here, Wade? Shouldn’t you be in prison?”

“Didn’t take,” Wade tossed his reply over his shoulder and set the cast-iron skillet on the stove.

“You broke out of jail?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time, Evans. You got salt around?”

Dan blinked. “You broke out of jail.”

Wade nodded and took up whistling again as he rummaged around for salt.

“And you thought you’d just… visit here?”

“Last place anyone’ll think to come look for me, I reckon.”

“Seeing as how I was the one put you on that train, that’d be a safe bet.” Dan ground his teeth and crossed his arms.

“Well, now, to be fair and proper, I put myself on that train. You got shot.”

“I recall it for a fact.” Dan glowered.

Ben smiled. “Figure that’ll earn me half of the reward, then?”

The eggs sizzled.

“You came here for the money.”

There was no heat to the accusation.

Wade looked like he was considering, then turned back to the stove to put on a pot of coffee and said low, “Not really. Maybe I just missed your sour face, Evans.”

Dan was too weary to rise to the bait. He sighed. Then suddenly he remembered and stood up straight. “William…”

Wade nodded. “Tracks lead northeast. Any idea where’d he go, for overnight?”

Looking out the door, Dan murmured, “Might have checked on the cattle…” He turned back to watch Ben slide two small omelets onto Alice’s plates. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Wade didn’t acknowledge the question.

A thick silence filled up the spaces between them as Dan stared out the door. He kept looking at the grave Wade had finished for him and wondering if he should go after William now or if it was too soon. He could always claim he was searching for the cattle…

Wade put the plates down on the table loudly, like they were heavy—which they weren’t, but Wade seemed to enjoy making noise just for the sake of hearing himself—and sat. “Why don’t you eat yourself some breakfast and then we can move on to the interrogation, hm?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Dan’s stomach growled.

Slowly, Wade’s bright eyes lifted to meet his. A wry grin broke out. “That a fact?”

Grimacing, Dan hobbled over to the table, looped his wooden leg over the seat, and sat like his bones were made of glass. Giving the eggs an experimental taste, he hummed. Not half bad. Not that it was hard to make eggs. But he hadn’t had more than tack and biscuits on the ride home—didn’t want to pull out the notes to buy anything fancy. He glanced at the empty sugar crock in which he’d put the reward money yesterday, and wondered how things would change if Wade knew it was there.

He soon forgot about it as he tucked in. A cup of coffee appeared to his right—Wade had brought them both a drink. “Thanks.”

“Welcome,” Wade said softly.

They finished their meal in silence. Dan was uncomfortable because, on the one hand, he really didn’t need an outlaw on the place, but on the other, he owed Wade: first, the man had helped him with the reward, then he’d finished burying his kin, and now he’d gone and made him a meal. Kicking him off the place just didn’t seem the thing to do, but somehow Dan doubted anything less subtle would stick.

He stood up shakily. “I’m gonna go see to the cattle.”

“Can you even ride?” Wade asked, looking him up and down.

Dan examined the man’s face. Same stubble, same lines, same bright, bright eyes. He swallowed, not quite sure what to call the funny feeling that crackled between them. “Got to be done. Need to find Will.”

Wade nodded knowingly. “If you can even sit in a saddle, Evans…”

Remembering why he was angry, Dan pushed his chair out of the way. He had to reach out for the table to steady himself; his body felt like it was made of tar. Frustrated, he looked back out the door.

“Tell you what I’m gonna do—I’ll go see to it. I’m a better tracker than you, anyway. You can do the dishes and then get back in bed. Won’t be any use if you get ill or torn up again.”

It made all kinds of sense, but Dan didn’t trust it. “You gonna go find my boy?”

“Maybe.”

“And my cattle?”

“If they aren’t hiding out on the lam, yes.” Wade kept a straight face but his tone was unmistakably mocking. It didn’t seem fair that a man could look so innocent and have such a devious mind.

“You ever in your whole life drove cattle, Wade?”

“You’d be right surprised what all kinds of experiences I’ve had in my whole long life. Besides, you best take me up on my offer because I don’t think you can ride more than a few feet without swooning again.”

Scowling at the term “swooning,” Dan picked up Alice’s china and moved—slowly and carefully—to the washing basin. “Fine. Go on, then. Just as soon see the back of you.”

He didn’t expect Wade would come back, really. It wouldn’t surprise him if he learned the criminal had made off with most of his cattle or something. He was worried about William, but if he gave chase, William might just run farther. It was the stubborn Evans' way. His son had really taken a shine to the outlaw, though, and Dan supposed Wade would have better luck persuading the boy home. Truth be told, he didn’t relish the thought of riding any time soon, either. So let Wade do what he liked.

“I knew you’d see it my way, Dan.”

Dan grunted and didn’t turn back around. He focused on the dishes and listened as Wade’s horse galloped north by northeast. Long minutes passed and he realized he didn’t have the energy for anything beyond letting his own horse out to graze, so he did, and then he drew up some water and washed himself until he felt almost human again. He changed his clothes and combed his hair and shaved—all by route memory, mechanical, his mind distant.

When he became fatigued, he set some salt pork and beans to simmer low on the stove. He told himself the extra he put in the pot was because William was growing and would undoubtedly be back by dinner. Then he sat on the bed and spent the next several hours steadfastly not looking out the door at the freshly tilled earth where his wife and son were buried.

Wade found him, curled up around Alice’s pillow, around dusk. All the man said was, “Cattle are to pasture. Saw a recent campfire but no other sign of Will.”

Dan responded with the first thing that came to mind: “Dinner’s on the stove if you’re hungry.”

The man looked tired, and Dan wondered if he’d been looking for William all day. “I’ll wash up first.”

Wade disappeared for a while—Dan could hear water splash around a bit in the other room. Then he could smell the pork and beans as Wade laid them out on the table.

“You want your plate in your room?” a gruff voice called.

Dan walked out to the dining room and sat across from Wade and didn’t comment as the man set food in front of him for the second time that day. They tucked in, ate in silence, and Dan just sat there, dazed, while Ben tidied up.

He looked different by the light of the stove. He’d shaved with Dan’s own razor. Was clean—a real clean, even behind the ears. But his clothes were dusty and stained.

“I got a clean shirt in the bedroom if you…” Dan trailed off.

Wade looked over at him and nodded. “Hm.” He walked into the bedroom, boots stomping—so different from the light thud of Alice’s slippers—and reappeared with Dan’s old nightshirt, too tight across his shoulders and too long past his hips.

Without thinking, Dan cracked a small smile.

Ben smiled back. “It’s cold tonight. You want a fire?”

He shrugged. “Should be all right, just us.”

“Not gonna kick me out to the barn, then?”

“Now there’s a thought.” Dan settled, staring sleepily at Ben. The wind howled along the lonely prairie, and the outlaw was silent, waiting while Dan worked out his thoughts. “No. Been a long day. Bed’s big enough, I reckon.”

“Come on then, old man. You’re half-dead where you sit.”

Dan let Wade usher him into the bedroom. He pretended not to notice the way the man watched him as he stripped down to just his shirt and underpants. He pretended he wasn't a little shy about his leg. He pretended he wasn't looking forward to sharing the bed with someone, anyone, anything, besides just a pillow that smelled like Alice. He crawled into bed and Wade followed.

When the darkness wrapped around them, Ben asked, “You want I should kill them? I will find every last one of them and make them pay for what they done to your family.”

Dan sighed. “Been enough killing for my part, Ben.”

That was all that was said on the matter.

Once again, Dan noted how surreal everything felt.

Soon enough, though, he fell asleep, the scent of soap and Ben Wade in his nose.

~*~

Ben woke up with Dan Evans’ back pressed against him, the other man shaking with quiet sobs. At first Ben thought the man was sick, retching, but then he realized the tremors that racked the man had more to do with grief. Dan was silent, but his pillow was wet, his face was red, and he kept trembling.

It was the dead of night, and the air was cool over the top of skin, but under the blankets was warm, where their threadbare shirts pressed together. Ben pulled back the covers slightly and forced Dan to turn into him, tucking the man’s head under his chin and rubbing circles into his back as Dan’s sobs got louder and louder until he sounded like a wounded animal, howling.

Ben just waited, and a few minutes later, Dan exhausted himself. “I should never have left here…” he whispered.

Ben closed his eyes.

“If I hadn’t have gone with you…” came the accusation.

“Never saw any sense in having regrets, Dan,” Ben said.

“That’s ’cause you never think of anyone but yourself.”

Ben supposed the widower needed somebody to hold accountable, and he was no stranger to blame. Hurt, though. Thought they’d seen past each others' surfaces, by now.

He startled a bit when he felt Dan’s cool lips press against his throat. No mistaking it—it happened again, and again, each time a little bolder. Dan sighed, and hot breath washed over Ben’s neck.

Cupping the back of Dan’s head, Ben just held him there and let the man do whatever he wanted. Apparently what he wanted was to taste Ben.

Ben had no trouble obliging. The problem was that he didn’t know how long he could last, just lying there like a stone. He’d wanted Dan since the first night they’d met, but he had no idea if Dan, in this state, was certain of what he wanted. Then Dan’s hand sneaked under his shirt and long, calloused fingers lightly stroked Ben’s stomach—and that was that.

Turning some, Ben gripped Dan’s chin, pulled it up, and kissed the man, full on. It was not a gentle kiss. It was not a pleasant kiss. It was hungry and naked and more like a challenge than anything else. He pulled back to catch his breath, but Dan followed, eager and equally hungry. Maybe more so.

They kissed and kissed, devouring each other, and at some point, Ben was on top of Dan, pushing him down gently but firmly, their bodies wrapping around one another. Ben ate at Dan’s mouth, licked his neck, sucked on his earlobes, and drank in the needy moans and thready whimpers. Dan was not passive, surprisingly.

The farmer clawed at Ben, nails raking through his hair, mussing it, then sliding down his back, scratching sharply over the worn shirt, digging fingertips into his shoulder blades…

“Mm,” he moaned, grinding his hips.

Dan surged up in response, his eyes blazing, like a dare.

Ben Wade never backed down from a dare.

He started up a very simple rhythm, a slow cadence of hips that quickly grew sloppy and needy; they mashed their hips together and continued to suck and bite and lick and kiss whatever was in reach.

Ben pulled Dan’s wooden leg up, hooking it over his hip.

Dan broke away. “Don’t… I…”

But Ben leaned on him harder, using his weight to trap the lanky man, and circled his hips until Dan was panting, thoroughly enjoying this new sensation that the angle afforded them, past being shy.

Ben licked the shell of Dan’s ear and whispered, “Want you so bad. So hard…”

Dan moaned and kept clutching at him, trying to lift his hips but too weak against Ben’s superior bulk. Instead, he bit Ben’s shoulder—hard—and just held on. After a while, Dan started pulling at Ben’s shirt, which meant Ben had to ease up a bit while Dan tugged it off, but it was worth it, because Dan immediately latched on, kissing and biting and scratching at his shoulders, chest, and back. Felt damned good.

Ben groaned in approval and started humping Dan in earnest, speeding up a bit, making the bed creak. Dan’s breath became erratic, and for a moment Ben worried Dan was overexerting himself, so he wrapped his thick fingers around each of Dan’s wrists and held them beside Dan’s head, pinning him down. His hips never stopped moving, but now they were looking at each other, eye to eye, the sliver of moonlight just enough so that they could make out one another’s faces.

Dan bit his lip and lowered his lashes; Ben could feel the man’s cock throb against his belly, his own cock hard in sympathy. Dan was leaking now, and he longed to taste the slender prick…

He drew Dan’s wrists up over his head and pressed them to the headboard. “Keep ’em there,” he grit out, dangerously soft. Bracing his forearms on either side of Dan’s shoulders, he began to circle his hips wider, faster, enjoying every moan Dan couldn’t bite back.

Sneaking his right hand down between them, he palmed Dan’s stiff prick. An explosion of breath washed over his cheek as Dan cursed. He rucked up Dan’s shirt and slid his warm hand under the waist of Dan’s pants to fondle Dan possessively.

Dan didn’t seem to mind. His legs splayed further open and his arms trembled with the effort of keeping still. “Please, I…”

“What?” Ben kissed Dan’s mouth, his neck, his collarbone. He nipped and licked his way down the man’s far too-thin chest and pulled those pants down while he was at it. “You what, Dan?”

“Want… to touch… you,” Dan growled, like it was torture to admit it.

Considering, Ben weighed the amount of damage Dan could do to himself against the feel of those hands on him and said, “Do it, then.”

Instantly, Dan’s fingers were back to threading through his hair, which Ben enjoyed quite a lot. He resumed kissing a path down Dan’s stomach, but used his left hand to apply steady pressure to Dan’s chest so the man couldn’t thrash too much.

“What are you…?” Dan began, confused, then whined and keened as Ben took him in his mouth. He hadn’t had much practice at this, but he knew what he liked, and he’d had enough whores… and he’d let Charlie do this enough times… that he knew he could make it good for Dan.

“Oh… oh… oh, God…. Oh…”

One arm draped over his eyes and the other tugging on Ben’s hair, Dan kept up a steady litany of moans, each one making Ben more and more excited. He started to hump the bed and tried to take Dan deeper, knowing the other man wouldn’t last much longer.

Suddenly, Dan pulled him off and then up, clutching him close. Slender fingers rubbed both their cocks, now slick with spit and pre-come. Looking into Dan’s feverish eyes, Ben could read everything there, as plain as if every emotion were written on parchment. He sped up, rocking so hard that the bed banged against the wall. Dan pulled his hand away and gripped two fistfuls of sheets, groaning as Ben rubbed their cocks against one another.

“Yeah,” Ben whispered, watching Dan fall apart—searing hot and desperate, needy and angry and lonely and beautiful. He watched Dan’s eyes as he felt the other man buck up, his cock so full and hard and throbbing. “Yeah…”

Without a sound, Dan came, splattering hot come on Ben’s chest. Ben watched through lidded eyes as the veins in Dan’s neck stuck out and his whole body lifted and tensed as pulse after pulse of seed shot out of him. Dan came like he was dying.

Ben was close, very close, but he wanted to watch this. His hips rocked forward slightly, over and over, sliding his prick across the flat of Dan’s hipbone. He watched as Dan’s left hand came up and cupped his cheek. It was tender. Watched as Dan’s right hand slid down his chest, smearing his come, gathering it up, and then wrapping around his cock, making a tight, snug hole to fuck.

Lost, Ben pumped in and out of Dan’s hand, groaning and raw. Dan’s slim wrist worked, twisting, the sensation growing more and more amazing as the strokes sped up.

“Oh,” Ben breathed out, his balls drawing up as he thrust harder and Dan stroked him faster.

Dan smiled, and Ben came. Gloriously. Then he collapsed.

He didn’t mean to crush Dan, but every ounce of energy had been wrung from him after that. Dan didn’t move a muscle, so Ben had to assume he didn’t much mind. Eventually, he lifted up to his forearms and kissed Dan—gentle, like a lover—and smiled. Dan’s eyes were drooping and he just lay there, splayed open and well fucked.

Ben cherished the sight for a few moments, then got up to get a rag to clean them up. By the time he was done, Dan was limp, boneless, and on the verge of sleep again. He crawled back under the covers and hid his smile when the other man curled around him. They both slept well, too tired to carry any more heavy thoughts.

~*~

Weeks passed, and they fell into a routine. Dan healed well enough to ride—mostly because Ben fussed over him and forced him to eat. There were repairs to make to the barn. The house needed tending. Preparations were necessary for winter. Ben was nothing short of astonishing with the cattle; they thrived, and Dan was able to sell beef for a good price that year. Ben kept to the farm mostly, except for his early morning rides, which he said were to clear his head and speak with the Almighty, but Dan had a sneaking suspicion he was really looking for William. Ben didn’t go too far, though, and didn’t talk to folk often; he was a wanted man, after all.

Somehow it just got decided along the way that Ben would stay on Dan’s farm and in Dan’s bed—until Dan got to thinking of it as Ben’s farm and Ben’s bed, too. They didn’t talk about Ben's past crimes. They didn’t talk about Alice or Mark. They especially didn’t talk about William, but every time Dan’s eyes strayed too long out the door, Ben would take Dan into the bedroom or push him up against a wall or spread him over the table and fuck him until he screamed. Those nights, he always slept too deep to bother with nightmares.

Sometimes Dan made a few trips into town to buy supplies. He asked everyone about his son, but no one had seen any sign of William. Then one day while he was buying preserves at the General Store, he got word a telegraph had come in for him. William wasted no words; the young man had found work as a lawman in Oklahoma and stated for a certainty he wouldn’t be coming back. There wasn’t any blame in the message, but Dan read it between the lines anyway. He sent a letter that simply read: Your mother would be proud. I am too. Take care.

He mentioned the news that night, over dinner. Ben nodded and watched Dan carefully. Eventually, Ben said, “Expect he’ll be good at it. At least he's on the right side of the law.”

Dan looked up, surprised to find the light from the oil lamps just a bit blurred. He hadn't shed a tear since that night. Blinking, he asked Ben to take him to bed. Ben put down his knife and fork and did so without a word.

After, they lay together, wrapped around one another, breathing as one. They listened to the wind on the prairie. Ben’s voice was deep and soothing when he asked, “Don’t suppose this spring, you’d fancy a trip to Oklahoma?”

Dan smiled against Ben’s shoulder. “You looking to get arrested again?”

Chuckling, Ben traced two fingers up and down Dan’s back. Dan would never admit it, but he loved that. “Be keen to a see a prison that could hold me… but mostly I thought you’d be keen to see Will. Hell, by rights, half of the money you’ve been hiding in that sugar crock this whole time is his. You should go and give it to him.”

Dan smacked Ben’s shoulder and then smiled. “He did earn it.”

“Yes, he did,” Ben said, nuzzling a strand of hair off Dan's forehead. “We don’t have to decide on it tonight. Just you think about it.”

But it was already a surety they’d go; Dan knew that much. Just like he knew Ben would be there in the morning, and the morning after that, and so on. Some things were always certain, for as any farmer-turned-gunslinger will tell you: as you sow, so shall you reap.

~*~

END


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